Or the one where Stevie discovers the secret to feeling good about his receding, greying hairline.
Stevie has a thing about his age. Or rather not so much about his age, as he happens to feel like a 20 year old who wouldn't mind meeting the boys for a few beers and then stopping off at a few hip joints to check out the other 20 year olds. But the thing is, while he feels like he is still in the prime of his youthful 20's, about once every few months he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and sees how the +15 years have ravaged his hairline. It's the only time you'll see him a little sad.
A few years ago he used to not be able to see the grey bits which tended to stay hidden until it was time for a haircut. And he definetly could not see his balding patch at the back at the top, and of course being the loyal, loving girlfriend I am, I certainly never pointed it out. In fact, I was the one who coloured it in with a grey felt tip while he slept, all the little greying hairs jumping ship from his head to his pillow as I worked.
Every so often he takes out his old work pass and compares the photo with the one on his new German one. And he sighs. For hair at the front of his head that has long gone, never to return. Does he secretly think of growing a fringe, I wonder? I know he has frightening thoughts first of all about bleaching it all (why? how could that possibly help matters?) and then calms down and considers Just For Men.
But today, he feels great. He is a man with more hair than he thinks he should have. He looks superb, fantastic, handsomely hirsute. The reason being that today he lied about his age. Someone on his football team asked him how old he was, and he said a lie just came out. He told them he was 46. And they said "Wow! That's amazing!". Of course they were referring to his athletic ability on the football pitch, but he's also surmising that he looks great for 46. And so he should, seeing as he's only 35.